


the waltz

by skymetaphors



Category: Gintama
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff, Their Love Is So
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 11:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21015329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skymetaphors/pseuds/skymetaphors
Summary: A part of him has always known.But Sougo doesn’t need to say anything, and nothing has to change.





	the waltz

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a song that I thought most accurately reflected these two’s relationship based on what we know from canon. I’d share it, but it’s in my native language and I don’t think there’s an English translation anywhere lol.
> 
> I apologize in advance for any OOC-ness, because it’s been a while.
> 
> Enjoy~

A part of him has always known.

But there was youth and idiocy and the irrefutable fact that China girl was a filthy shit-eating hog with manners that could make the most ill-bred gorillas feel faint of heart.

All of this, still true. But she is nineteen years old and her hair is long enough to grab, is the shade of red that reaches deep into his stomach and makes him feel like he’s about to take a giant dump, but upon facing the toilet, his bowels run out of shit to say

and when she laughs he has to punch her in the mouth to negate what the sound does to him (what it undoes in him)

and sometimes when he’s napping in the park he hears her sit beside him and he knows it’s her even without looking, he knows the exact rustle of her clothes against her skin when she moves in a certain way, the crunch of the grass beneath her monstrous weight, the silence of her waiting and his, (ever since she left and was gone for two—_two fucking years_—) he has memorized the sounds of her arrival like some loser, and without removing his eye mask

_What the fuck is that smell, China?_

_That would be your stinky armpits, yes?_

_Nah, you just farted, didn’t you?_

_A lady’s fart would have made the ground sprout flowers. _

_You’re not a lady, you’re a fart._

then she smacks him on the face with her umbrella, he swings his sheathed sword in her general direction, she rips off his mask and he calls her hair ornaments ballsacks and he almost fails to dodge the punch that follows because she is wearing a small, peculiar smile rarely directed at him, and he thinks he should ask

_What the fuck do you look so happy about, you creep?_

but he’s also grinning, the sun is a big fat bastard like her, high up on the bluest sky of the season,

and there is no answer needed, really, the day is already good enough. 

* * *

But in some ways, there was no way for him to know. This is shounen, after all. Romance is a madao, half-dead and crawling down the gutter pipes.

Until now, there is no room in his life for this. He has terrorists to arrest, slaves to beat into submission, and his career to think of (He’s _this _close to finally killing Hijikata-san).

And besides the fact that her head is too small for ideas like romance, she can’t afford to act on them willy-nilly, either. Whenever China is mentioned in the same sentence as any—_any guy at all_, the glasses-holder somehow breaks his glasses through sheer force of will, and whatever the boss is holding snaps or tears in two. However, they ensure that such sentences do not reach the Umibuzou, for the safety of the planet.

Can’t do anything about the brother, though. He pops up randomly and just kind of hovers around China, like a part-time guardian angel who murders people as a day job. For some reason, Sougo is his most frequent target. He doesn’t mind. He will never turn down a good fight.

This is the only reason he tolerates her presence. Nothing has changed.

He wants to explain to both of her families that if they see him and China staring each other down, it doesn’t even occur to him to kiss her no matter how close she is

and if the sight of sunlight sneaking past the edge of her parasol to strike her face at an angle that makes her eyes look like tinted glass has him forgetting whatever insult he’s about to say, that’s just a sign he’s getting older, and therefore wiser.

So there is no need for the glasses-holder to push his glasses up his nose like an evil magistrate every time he sees Sougo. Nor is it necessary for the boss to greet him with attempted decapitation. 

Everything has an explanation. If they see him and China eating a mountain of manjus together, it’s because they have just stolen Hijikata-san’s wallet

and if, without prior arrangement, this becomes tradition, then routine, it’s because China is a pig but is too incompetent to pull off a robbery against a paranoid mayo freak on her own. It doesn’t matter that they make fun of Hijikata-san as they eat, that she makes him laugh more often than he initially thought he was capable of.

Besides, after a week-long operation that kept him from China far longer than he’s used to, despite the exhaustion and lack of sleep, Sougo absolutely does _not_ shower and change so he can go to her, so he can pick a short fight with her or just see her, and he doesn’t faint in the living room on his way out

and when he wakes up to find China snoring away beside him, he doesn’t watch her sleep. He doesn’t reach out to wind her hair around his fingers, nor does he softly say _China, _knowing she would never hear him address her like this

and of course she does _not_ wake up at all, surprising both of them, they don’t look at each other in silence as if something beyond their understanding is taking place and the only way to figure it out is to never leave this moment, and the following conversation certainly never happens:

_I know I am stunning, sadist, but what are you staring at me for? It is creepy, yes?_

The best defense is a good offense. _What the fuck are you doing in my house?_

_It is hot outside, yes? I needed shelter from the sun and I stumbled upon this old moldy decapitated building. _

Instead of pointing out that it’s nearly dusk and the sun has bled the last of its brightness from the sky: _Dilapidated, moron. _

_Your face is dilapidated. _

_You wanna get decapitated, you stalker?_

_Who are you calling a stalker, you lolicon?_

_You’re nineteen, you’re not a loli anymore. _

_Ha! So you admit you were a lolicon, yes?_

_If anyone has a complex here, it’s you. You broke my fucking door!_

_That was not me. That was a wild orangutan that needed to take a dump, and it mistook your smelly place for a toilet. _

_That’s basically you, China. You paying for my door or what?_

_My presence is all the payment you need, idiot sadist. _

_That’s cheaper than snot._

During this hypothetical conversation that never happens, China does not drag his futon out into the living room to make herself comfortable on it, she does not ask how come the op didn’t get him killed, Sougo doesn’t settle down beside her to tell her how his week went, and someone, _anyone_, points out that he has been playing with her hair the entire time.

* * *

In this way he realizes he has always known. Truth is that one kid in temple school who reminds their teacher they have homework.

Hijikata-san walks up to Sougo’s house and stops in his tracks, his cigarette nearly falling out of his mouth. He sees China walk out after one of the afternoon naps that have become their routine, like most things people need to go on.

_Uh, what are you doing here? Does the permhead know you’ve been doing M-rated shit in there?_

China doesn’t respond, simply raises her umbrella and shoots him point-blank in the face.

As Hijikata-san screams obscenities and curses her in the name of mayonnaise, Sougo grins and watches her leave.

She looks back at him once, her mouth quirking into an almost-smile, and goes on. His chest creaks, like his organs are wooden steps and something unidentifiable is sneaking up on him.

He’s still grinning when Hijikata-san recovers and straightens to look at him.

Sougo tries to look neutral.

The mayo addict raises his eyebrows and says only two words:

_Oh boy. _

* * *

There are countless opportunities for Okita Sougo to explain to China what it means when he lets his hands linger on her after they fight

or when he helps her find the snacks the boss hid everywhere in the Yorozuya and whether they succeed or not, he stays over and listens to her complain about not being compensated for her labors and she listens to him whine about failing to assassinate his superior

and eventually they move to the couch where they lay their days out for each other as the sun sinks, as the sky bruises itself against the clouds

and when they’re sleepy they move to the futon, they don’t even hold each other, they just talk and insult each other until they pass out

and when Sougo wakes up next to her, it’s not quite dark, not quite morning, half-stillness, half-the sound of her breathing, he can see the outline of the city through the window, the outline of the furniture all around them, the outline of her under the blanket

and he never wants to leave, ever.

* * *

But these are things he cannot say. Maybe he never will. Not because he is too proud or too emotionally constipated, but because it’s fine to stay like this. Like nothing has changed. 

As long as his day starts with her destroying his door for the nth time, and he picks up his katana quickly enough to block her assault, and he yells at her to get the fuck out or pay for damaging his property, so she calls him a penniless loser and her audacity makes him slap his scabbard across her face

and they are brawling with zero regard for technique, finesse or skill, she is throwing him across the street, he is throwing grenades at her, the city is in uproar but the sky remains in place

and when he manages to pin her down, instead of smashing his forehead into her nose, he leans down, close enough, too close, and she freezes and stares, her face turning red, she asks him what he’s doing and tries to spit at him but he dodges and just looks at her, memorizing her stupid face, every stupid curve, every twitch of her stupid mouth, every flicker of light against her stupid eyes

and in a voice so quiet it feels like they are alone and it’s the end of the world, he tells her

_Never change, China girl. Never change. _

and she looks closely at him and her expression softens just a little, she smiles, and god, it must really be the end of the world

_Right back at you, idiot sadist. _

so after they fight they make Hijikata-san’s day as miserable as possible, then they celebrate by dining together, going home together, sleeping over if they can get away with it, going through the little routines they have built over the many years they’ve known each other

because as long as the day ends with them trying to make the other go to sleep permanently by smothering each other’s faces with pillows, as long as they can laugh like this, live like this, almost kiss like this—

there is no need for Sougo to say anything. He will stay here, in whatever place he has in her life, unless she chooses to give him more.

Until then, this should be enough.

#

**Author's Note:**

> May not have been up to my standards, but I’m happy to be writing about these morons again.


End file.
